


The Bourgeois Made Me Do It

by oddlyqueer



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Trans Enjolras, Trans Male Character, poor communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-23 00:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18538849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddlyqueer/pseuds/oddlyqueer
Summary: “So, uh, why are you—”“I’m kind of— I— okay, so my sister’s getting married to her boyfriend in a couple weeks, and they kept saying that they were gonna set me up with this guy they know since we’re both single and into guys and apparently compatible, but I’ve met him, and he’s a centrist, but I can’t just say that because I’ll make my sister mad, and I ended up accidentally saying that I have a boyfriend and they want me to bring him to the wedding and now I need someone to fake date so I’m here.”Grantaire is going to die. He is going to have a literal heart attack right now.





	The Bourgeois Made Me Do It

**Author's Note:**

> Some awkward misgendering of Enjolras and referring to being trans as a phase by Enjolras' family. This is also unedited, so read at your own risk. Also, the title has next to nothing to do with the plot.

Enjolras is at the door to his dormitory and wow, he looks good. Like, it should be illegal. Or whatever the equivalent of illegal is in Enjolras's fully-automated luxury space communism fantasies.

He stands there, playing with the ring on his middle finger. His hair is a mess and his cheeks are red, like he just ran a mile or something, but his outfit is… wow. It’s formal— deep red dress shirt, charcoal-grey vest, black dress pants. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing the small tattoo that he has on the inside of his forearm. Liberté in small, barely legible cursive, standing out black against his pale skin.

“Um, hello,” he says, the most awkward that Grantaire's ever seen him. And so formal, too, more formal than Enjolras usually is. Who even says ‘hello’ anymore?

“Hey,” he says, voice cracking a bit. He winces. Enjolras is so well-dressed, and he's standing here in a pair of pajamas with lime green stripes and a t-shirt from his high school performance of Sweeney Todd. Not exactly prime talk-to-your-crush wear.

“Um, can I come in? This is kind of not something I really want to discuss in the hallway.”

“Sure.” He gestures to his open door, walking in and sitting on one of the three available places to sit— the wheely chair from his desk. Enjolras takes the couch, crossing his legs tightly for a moment before noticing and moving, his foot resting casually on his knee. Grantaire notices he's wearing beat-up black Converse, which would look stupid if they weren't being worn by the literal angel that is now sitting on his couch.

“So, uh, why are you—”

“I’m kind of— I— okay, so my sister’s getting married to her boyfriend in a couple weeks, and they kept saying that they were gonna set me up with this guy they know since we’re both single and into guys and apparently compatible, but I’ve met him, and he’s a _centrist_ , but I can’t just say that because I’ll make my sister mad, and I ended up accidentally saying that I have a boyfriend and they want me to bring him to the wedding and now I need someone to fake date so I’m here.”

Grantaire is going to die. He is going to have a literal heart attack right now.

“You— uh, why are you asking me? Don't you have, like, a whole social justice club of people who you could be fake boyfriends with?”

“Well, uh…”

Grantaire finally thinks about it for a second. Of course he's asking him. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are out of the question. They've already met Enjolras's sister. So are Joly and Bossuet— they're probably not going to want to fake date someone when they already are in a relationship. He said “boyfriend”, so Jehan and Eponine are out of the question. Feuilly is always busy, and Bahorel already has a girlfriend…

“Oh. Yeah. I guess I'm kind of the last resort, huh?”

Enjolras frowns. “No. You're the first person I asked.”

“Well, yeah, but I mean, it's only because no one else can do it, right?”

“No. I asked you first because— well, I— I was going to ask everyone else, but I just… you were the first person I thought of.”

Grantaire bursts out laughing.

“What?! It’s not that weird!”

“Me? Your boyfriend? I can’t picture it.” Enjolras looks confused. “I mean, come on! We disagree on everything, we argue almost all the time, and you hate me. We would be found out in about ten seconds.”

“I don’t hate you,” Enjolras protests. “I disagree with you. They’re different.”

“You refused to date a guy because he’s a centrist.”

“No— that’s not—” He looks defeated. “That’s different. You’re not— he literally said that antifa and Nazis are equally bad because they’re both violent.”

“Glad to know I’m better than the Nazi apologist,” he deadpans. “So you’re going to fake-date me so I can be your fake-boyfriend at your sister’s wedding?”

“That is the gist of it, yes.”

“Um. Cool. Neat. When are you gonna pick me up, then?”

“You’ll do it?” Enjolras looks genuinely elated. “Really?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll do it. It’s one day, right? White people weddings are one day?”

“Yes. I’m so glad you’ll do it.” He pauses. “Um, do you have a suit or…”

“Yeah. I do. I’ll be fine. Do you wanna, like, match or something?” He’s at a loss for words. His crush asked him to be his date to a wedding. His sister’s wedding. It’s like something out of a bad romance novel.

“No, I— we don’t have to. Unless you want to? I don’t want to, um, assume or anything, we’re only faking this.”

It’s a punch in the gut, a reminder that this is all just for a day, just to get Enjolras out of dating the centrist guy his sister is trying to set him up with. He forces a smile and nods.

“So it’s—”

“The twenty-fourth. I’ll pick you up around 2, the ceremony’s at 3 and we go to the reception at 4:30. It’s— my family is French Catholic so there’s gonna be a mass before the actual marriage. Are you okay with that? You don’t— um, you don’t really have to participate or anything, and it’ll only be, like, an hour and a half.”

“Yeah, it’s cool. I mean, you’ll have to owe me one— maybe you’ll be my date to my cousin’s wedding or something.” He regrets it the second he says it. Enjolras goes bright red and looks completely embarrassed. “Or not. You don’t— we don’t have to. Sorry. That was out of line. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He tugs on a lock of hair, sighing. “I’ll see you at 2, then?”

“Yeah. See you at two.” He watched as Enjolras left, the door slamming behind him. Grantaire collapsed into his chair with an enormous sigh. “Fuck. I am a total moron.”

—

Grantaire stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie for the hundredth time. He had fixed his hair, then re-did it, then decided to go back to the first style. This was his third tie. These were his fourth pair of shoes. He had no idea how he wanted to dress.

A knock on his door. Enjolras.

“Hey,” Grantaire said, running over to the entrance, breathless. Enjolras stands there, wearing what must be a very expensive suit, but it doesn’t even compete with how good he looks.

“Um. You look. Okay. No, I mean, you don’t look okay, you look really good, you look so good, I sound like a total idiot right now—”

“Yeah. Um. Thank you.” He’s bright red and playing with the cuff of his sleeve. Grantaire notices that he has cufflinks on, and has to try very hard not to laugh. Fucking cufflinks. It’s so bourgeois, so not Enjolras that it’s practically giving him cognitive dissonance.

“Are we going to—”

“Let’s go.”

They start walking to the car, and Grantaire, without thinking, opens the passenger door. They stand there for a moment before Enjolras says, “I have to—”

“You have to drive, right.” He kicks himself for not remembering and gets into the passenger seat, unbuttoning his jacket and sighing. Enjolras gets into the driver’s seat and starts the car, putting on the navigation on his phone.

The drive is very quiet. Enjolras doesn’t have the radio on, so their silence is only punctuated by the cool voice of the phone navigation telling them to turn left or continue for 3 miles every so often. Grantaire pulls out his phone and texts Eponine in a panic.

_ep help_

_Is this abt the weird fake date ur going on with ur weird sjw crush_

_dude its so awkward were just sitting in the car and he doesnt even have the radio on or anything were just silently driving_

_Fucking talk to him you dumbass_

Grantaire puts his phone down. “So, um, how long have we been dating?”

“What?” Enjolras casts a panicked glance at him, then focuses hard on the road ahead, still looking confused and slightly scared.

“I mean, we— like, for your sister? We have to tell her some details of our relationship so she doesn’t get suspicious.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” He frowns, getting the expression he usually reserves for working hard on something during a meeting. “Um, a few months, maybe? Like five months?”

“Okay. And— how did we meet?”

“Let’s keep this as close to the real thing as possible. It’ll be easier that way, you know?”

“So in class, then. Okay.” He adjusts his tie once again. “Should we have been friends before we dated, or no?”

“Definitely yes. My sister would get suspicious. I would never date someone I wasn’t already acquainted with.”

“Uh, how about— how much physical contact are you comfortable with?”

“How much would you normally touch your partner?”

“I— um— I don’t know.”

“Well, just do whatever you’re comfortable with, and I’ll stop you if you go too far for me. Is that okay?”

“I would— I don’t know, I guess I’d feel kind of bad. Do you think we should have, like, a safe word or something?”

“If you think that’s okay,” he says. “What would we say? It can’t be too weird, they’d notice if it was…”

Grantaire thinks for a moment. “How about ‘babe’? It’s subtle enough that they won’t notice, but we’ll notice it if either of us says it.”

“Works for me.”

“Babe it is. And, uh, should I know anything about you that I don’t already? So your sister doesn’t get suspicious?” He doesn’t know how far he should push. On one hand, he wants to help Enjolras out, make sure his parents and sister don’t make him date that guy, but on the other hand, if he gets to know him too well, it might feel too real. Too much like Enjolras is really his boyfriend, instead of just someone who needed help. He hates that it’s true, but Enjolras would never date someone like him.

“I don't know. I’ve never been with someone before.”

“Wait, seriously? You’re twenty-three and you’ve never dated? Not even in high school?”

Enjolras shakes his head. “I was too busy to date, and besides, I didn’t want to date. I was pre-T and a disaster and I wasn’t even out to most of the school. Dating just didn’t seem like a good option for me. I had homework.”

Grantaire laughs. “Didn’t stop me.”

“Well, it wasn’t just homework. It was that and Model UN and therapy and debate team and national honors society and—” He cuts himself off. “Um, you get the picture.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t that involved. I just did theater and was in a shitty band that never played or practiced. We were only really a band in concept.”

“I didn’t know you were in a band,” Enjolras says. “Who was in it?”

“Like I said, not really a band. It was me, Eponine, and these guys we were friends with.”

“What were you called?”

He sighs. “God, it’s dumb. We were— okay, so Eponine was, like, really into frogs? You know how in high school you had phases where you just kinda got obsessed with shit and talked about it incessantly? Well, Eponine was really into frogs, so she decided we were going to be the Frogmen. We had one song, also called Frogmen, and we practiced it like twice and then never talked again.”

“Do you remember it?”

“What?”

“The song. Do you remember it?”

“Uh, I think so? I could— yeah, I remember it. It was like, from Sagamore to Ogden, here come the slimy frog men— or something. I would have to hear it maybe.” He coughs. “It was dumb. Eponine wrote all the lyrics and she just shoved it in my hands and told me to make up all the chords and I did so we just— yeah.”

“That’s actually kind of cool.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is. You wrote a whole song. That’s cool.”

“It wasn’t that good of a song.”

“Doesn’t matter. You made a thing. That’s cool.”

They pull up to the church, and Enjolras parks the car. He gets out, leaving Grantaire to sit in the car for a moment until he opens the door.

“Ready to go?” He offers his hand. Grantaire takes it and stands.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

—

Grantaire sits through the entire ceremony, but doesn’t really participate. Mostly because he doesn’t know what the hell is going on. Enjolras doesn’t seem to know what’s going on, either, and they sit there in silence for the majority of it. Usually Enjolras prompts him when they’re about to stand or sit or walk to the front of the church or whatever they have to do, so he stumbles through without much issue.

Enjolras’s hand rests casually on the bench— there’s probably a better name for it, but he couldn’t care less— just a few inches away from his. Grantaire, like an idiot, moves his hand so his and Enjolras’s fingers are touching. Enjolras looks at him with a panicked expression, but doesn’t move his hand. Neither does Grantaire.

The couple exchange vows and rings, and Enjolras stands to greet them. His sister looks over in their general direction and gasps, running towards them. Grantaire barely notices any of this because Enjolras is holding his hand and it’s incredibly distracting.

“Alex!” she yells, smiling. “Oh my gosh, it’s so great that you’re here!”

“Hey, Luce,” he says. “You look wonderful.”

She looks over at Grantaire. “And this must be your boyfriend,” she says with a grin. “I’m Lucille. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“Reyan,” he says, shaking her hand, and then wondering if that was the proper way to greet your fake boyfriend’s just-married sister. “Likewise.”

“I’m just so happy for you,” Lucille says. “You honestly are a lot different than I was expecting. I figured if Alex was going to date any of his friends, it would be Claude.”

Grantaire laughs. Enjolras and Combeferre together was an… interesting mental image. He really couldn’t picture it.

“Yeah, not really. I guess, uh, opposites attract,” he says.

“You two really are perfect for each other,” she says with a sweet smile. “So, how long have you been together?”

Enjolras looks at him. “A few months? Since, like, February.”

Grantaire nods. “We met in class. He was giving a presentation about— I don’t remember. I think it was about, like, intersectionality? Anyway, I was watching him present— he was so good, by the way, and we could ask questions after, and instead of asking a real question about the content, I—”

“He asked for my number.”

“Aww!”

“I mean, we didn’t get along that well at first. We fought a lot at first. It was, like, arguing at first, then we were friends, then we were hanging out after class and he was yelling about something that someone had said in class and he got so angry that he literally wouldn’t shut up—”

“So he kissed me.”

“And after I kissed him, he just started yelling again about consent and then he kissed me again, like, two seconds after he was yelling about me needing to ask.”

“Of course. That sounds like Alex.” She smiles. “Well, it’s almost time to go! Reception time and all. I’ll see you there?”

Enjolras nods stiffly, and gives her a tense wave. The moment she's out of sight, he immediately walks out to the car at a frightening pace, leaving Grantaire and his outstretched hand in the church, alone.

—

He finds Enjolras in the car, sitting in the passenger's seat with a vacant expression. Grantaire says nothing, just gets in the car and turns the key, buckles his seatbelt, and drives them to the reception hall.

Enjolras looks over at Grantaire for a moment, then back down at his hands, folded in his lap. He doesn't seem like himself.

“You good?”

“What?” He seems genuinely startled by Grantaire's voice. “Oh, yeah. I'm fine.”

He sighs, the obvious lie making no sense. Was he just trying to let him down easily? Was it just too weird for him to pretend to be in a relationship with someone he disliked— someone he disagreed with?

He thought there was a connection. Back in the reception hall, it had seemed weirdly intimate— the ease with which they'd come up with a story, the way Enjolras had held his hand, smiled when Grantaire told the story of how they met. Was that all an act? It had seemed real at the time, but that could have just been Enjolras putting on a good show. This is an act of desperation, Grantaire reminds himself. It's only so he doesn't have to date that other guy.

They pull up at the reception hall, and Enjolras gets out quickly, leaning against the car.

“Are you okay?”

“I can’t do this.” He sighs, putting his hands over his face. “Goddammit, I can’t do this.”

“What happened?”

“I just— never mind.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Let’s go, my sister will be wondering where we are.”

“Okay,” he says, taking Enjolras’s hand. He looks over at him quickly, then pulls his hand away from Grantaire’s hold and walks toward the reception hall.

Everyone there is cheering and having a great time, and Enjolras stands there, a glass of water in his hand where everyone else has wine, a fake smile pasted on his face. Grantaire leans on the table beside him, looking as he talks to his family.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve finally found a boyfriend,” someone says. An older relative. “You were always so alone. And maybe this’ll get you out of this phase you’re—”

Enjolras drops his glass and walks out the door, leaving the woman behind him looking appalled. “I just wanted her to be—”

“Him.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Alex is a guy. Being trans isn’t a phase.”

She waves her hand at him and goes back to talking to the circle of relatives. Grantaire follows after Enjolras, finding him out in the entry hall. He’s leaning against the wall, covering his face with both hands. It’s not obvious, but Grantaire thinks he’s crying.

“Hey, are you okay? They’re seriously fucking assholes, I just want to make sure—”

“Fuck off.”

“What?”

“I said fuck off. Get out of here. This was a fucking mistake.” He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “This was such a fucking mistake. I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” he says, walking over to Enjolras and putting his hand on his shoulder. “You aren’t. Seriously. They’re the idiots.”

Enjolras pushes his hand off of his shoulder, sitting down against the wall. “You know, I— I thought this was going to be a good idea. I seriously thought this was a good idea somehow. I didn’t realize how fucking dumb it was to ask the guy I— never mind.”

He sighs. His mind fills in the rest— _I didn’t realize how fucking dumb it was to ask the guy I hate to be my fake boyfriend._

“I’m sorry. I’ll just go home now, this really was a fucking mistake.” He gets up from his seat next to Enjolras.

Enjolras looks up at him. He looks genuinely upset. “Wait,” he says. “Don’t leave.”

“Why not? You obviously don’t want me here,” he says, walking away.

“But—” He stands up and walks over to Grantaire. “I— I shouldn’t have made you come here. I shouldn’t have asked you to do this.”

“I’m sorry, Enjolras.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry.” He sighs. “I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have asked you here tonight.”

“Is it because— is it what I said?”

“No, God no, it’s not because of anything you did. I would never do something like that. I just—”

“You don’t want me to be your boyfriend, even your fake boyfriend.”

“Yes, I fucking do! That’s the problem!”

“Well, I want to be your boyfriend too!” he shouts, without thinking about it.

Enjolras grabs Grantaire’s hand, pulls him in close, wraps his arms around Grantaire and kisses him. Somehow, he still manages to still seem angry.

“I hate you so much,” he says, smiling at Grantaire. “You could have just told me, you know.”

“I thought you didn’t like me! You always seemed to hate me!”

“You and me both, Reyan.” He sighs. “You wanna get out of here?”

“I mean, we could go back in, and I could refer to you by your name as much as possible and we could be gross and affectionate and I could call you my boyfriend a lot.” He laughs. “Plus, there’s cake, and your sister’s great.”

“Yeah, there is cake. And of course I could probably humiliate both of us by dancing.”

Grantaire laughs. “We could do that, yes.” He puts an arm around Enjolras and walks back into the reception hall, watching as Lucille continues to tell off that lady that Enjolras dropped a whole glass of water on.

—

The next Amis meeting involves a lot of awkward glances between him and Enjolras, and a lot of Combeferre and Courfeyrac staring at each other and at the two of them.

“So, like, are you two dating now?” Bahorel asks him quietly while Enjolras organizes flyers. “I mean, you obviously like each other and have for a while, but like, you’re more weirdly touchy now and Enjolras looks at you with actual genuine affection, which is weird, so. Yeah. Are you together?”

“I— uh, kind of? We don’t really have any certain terms for our—”

“Yes, we’re dating,” Enjolras says, coming up behind him and draping his arms around Grantaire.

“Um, yes. We are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! Comments and kudos are much appreciated.


End file.
